


The God of High Heels

by artsies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, christmas came to town, norsekink fill, prompt: loki in heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsies/pseuds/artsies
Summary: "I'll castrate you and hang you by your entrails from your precious Stark Tower if you even so much as breathe any of this-""What? About you sneakily trying on high heels in a fitting room, wondering how sexy you'd be?", there is a flicker of something on Loki's face before it returns to 'dignified miffed'.





	The God of High Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt on norsekink:
> 
> Prompt: Loki in heels. Like real, runway style, six inch break-your-neck heels. And curly hair. Maybe he's dressed that way for a banquet in Asgard, and as gods their not overly fussed about the whole differentiated gender rules we mortals live by. Maybe one day he just feels like wearing them.  
> I don’t know I just need it to happen. 
> 
> Posted here for archival purposes, written in 2011.

There was perhaps but one downside to being Tony Stark, a genius/playboy/millionaire/philanthropist; that being said millionaire, he actually needed to run an empire next to his superhero hobby, and this, unfortunately, meant spending time away from Avengers HQ and his superbuddies so he could sit through boring board meetings and answer stupid, rude and irritating questions at press conferences instead. On the other hand, it also meant he could go shopping for Christmas presents alone, (or just grab a normal hamburger or a slice of pizza at a local mall in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt under the pretense of shopping for Christmas, and spend the day doing apparently nothing at all).  
  
So, he is  _shopping for Christmas_  and wandering aimlessly, enjoying the feeling of blending in with the crowd, when a blotch of black and green catches his eyes. Maybe it's because he has been fighting the  ~~gorgeous little~~  infuriating alien for years now - well, battling annoying but non-lethal pranking is a little more closer to the truth - but his subconscious instantly reacts to the sight; he does a double take, and realizes that that is, in fact,  _Loki_  heading toward the fitting rooms, several shirts draped neatly over his arm.  
  
Okay. So Loki obviously needs to wear something too. Yes. Nothing odd about that.  
  
He should just turn around. Turn around, and pretend that that wasn't Loki, pretend it was just a very similar tall, pale, handsome man in a pair of nicely fitting good lord of engineering it was skin-tight jeans and not head toward said fitting rooms and definitely not peep under the doors to check which one he went into, and the gods of screwdrivers forbid him from opening the door and sliding in next to a very surprised god of mischief when he finds the one he did. Indeed, he should just turn around.  
  
"S-Stark?"  
  
And since he should not have done any of these things, he will not be confronted with a sort of blushing Loki looking at him in surprise, wearing the same thing he did outside… except for the high heels.  
  
Tony's brain ceases to function at the sight of those black stilettos on Loki's rather small feet (for a man), making his already slender form into something that desires the invention of a new word, something that is the mix of gorgeous, breath-taking and let me take you right here.  
  
(Okay, so he's  ~~been crazy for~~  had a crush on him ever since the defenestration thing, and no, not because he is a masochist.)   
  
The alien blushes at his stare, up to almost the points of his ears, and scrambles to take the footwear off, but Tony just can't have that, not yet, because he needs more dirty fantasy material, please; he catches his wrist as he reaches for his lifted heel, and their gazes lock.  
  
"I'll castrate you and hang you by your entrails from your precious Stark Tower if you even so much as breathe any of this-"  
  
"What? About you sneakily trying on high heels in a fitting room, wondering how sexy you'd be?", there is a flicker of something on Loki's face before it returns to 'dignified miffed'.  
  
"I was merely curious.", he says, and shaking off the engineer's hand, begins to lean back against the wall. Normally, this putting of distance between them would have worked, but as he happens to be wearing at least six extra and very thin heeled inches, it merely ends in him losing his balance; instinctively (yes, yes, no dirty intentions whatsoever) Tony grabs the alien's waist to keep him from falling, and flailing, the pygmy giant clutches back, long slender hands gripping his shoulders.  
  
(Not doing anything to his insides at all. Nope.)  
  
"Careful there, pretty young thing. No need to break your neck trying to please me."  
  
(His hands don't burn with the utter need to pull him closer and just roam on his body.)

The 'god' shoots him a flat look - downward, because Loki is tall without heels, and now the top of Ironman's head is practically only reaching his nose -, muttering something along the lines of stop that and do you flirt with everyone.

Tony just wiggles his eyebrows with a lewd grin plastered onto his face, and the alien scoffs with a half-smile, obviously taking this as a joke (which he should, Ironman reminds himself, because they are enemies, and Thor would kill him if he slept with his little brother without any prior morning gifts and all), letting go and stepping backwards carefully in the small space.

"Castration Stark, remember."

"Oh, you can do anything you want with me in those stilettos, darling."

Loki rolls his eyes before disappearing with a flicker, slightly red in the face.

\- - -

It's nearly Chirstmas now, and absurdly late in the evening. Tony Stark sits in his office, looking over blueprints for some new projects - he is very strict on the quality of their products - listening to the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway; he daresay that only the cleaning lady and the security guard are around now, most normal people having scurried home to be with their families long ago, and he had sent Pepper home to be with Happy as well.

It's alright, he enjoys the silence. His former home, now superhero hideout, isn't well-suited to calm contemplation anymore; there is always shouting and things broken by Steve or Thor he needs to fix, or Clint yelling at a game on TV, or Natasha doing her aerobics at some ungodly hour (she claims five o'clock to be morning) - all things he relishes to have in the place of the dead silence that has haunted him for years, making him forget that empty little place in his soul that begs for someone to love, hold and kiss - but with all of that, work at home is getting increasingly impossible. He bites the tip of his pen, frowning, when he hears the door close with a small 'click'.

Tony looks up, and it takes all he has not to loose his cool, throw away his pen and gasp, (but he does do some furious blinking); by holy motor oil it's Loki,  ~~his crush~~  leaning back against his great oak doors, wearing those fated skin tight black jeans and a green vest over his broken white shirt, with a loop-sided Santa hat on his head, and…

… and those black stilettos from a month ago.

(Is this Christmas coming early and giving him things to think about in the shower and with all those pretty black-haired and green-eyed girls he seems to favor lately?)

"Loki.", he says after he has cleared his throat, trying desperately to hide the sudden nerves that set in, "What brings you to my humble abode?"

The goddamn gorgeous alien smirks in that self-hating way of his, puts one elegant hand into his pocket (which makes that something in the engineer's gut stir, because it accents his slim hips) and pushes himself off the door, taking slow, long steps forward; his whole body seems to be a beautiful curve in Tony's eyes, a mesmerizing sight that leaves his mouth dry and head in the gutter. His free hand pulls on the hat, straightening it then pulling it to one side again.

"Oh, not much.", he replies with a small shrug, looking at the carpet. There is a soft sadness to his expression that has Tony needing to remind himself that this is the enemy and that he is in mortal danger here.

"I see. Is there something on your mind?"

He finds he needs to grip his armrest, because stilettos and Loki and he is almost by his desk now; somewhere he thinks about how this must be a dream and how he doesn't want it to be. The alien sighs, slumps his shoulders as he sits down at the edge of Tony's desk, back to the billionaire.

(Far too much, it says. Ironman rushes to switch the conversation, distracted from his dirty musings.)

"Do I smell eggnog, your highness? It's still a little early, you know.", what can he say? An alcoholic like him knows his liquor - not that there is much skill needed in this case; Loki smells like he has drunk at least the amount of a small lake, which does explain the sudden teleport and wearing of high heels coupled with depressed sighs.

"Ah, yes, praise the humankind for doing something right at least.", the alien laughs, shooting him an amused look over his shoulder, hands playing with the little fluff at the end of his hat absentmindedly, before suddenly sighing again and muttering, "Ridiculous, aren't they? These shoes…"

Tony swallows, glances at the black stilettos for a moment before his gaze shifts to the soft black curls peeping out from under the red fabric, to the smooth line of neck and jaw with it's pale skin stretching beneath.

"They look great on you.", he says quietly.

The alien glances at him, shakes his head, then with one smooth motion lies down on his desk, on top of blueprints and swatting away pens, thin body stretching with his feet still on the ground, and oh lord of engineering, Tony could just howl from the sheer amount of arousal he is going through at the sight, because he is insanely beautiful (how can he not know that, he thinks, how can he not know that he could have everyone wrapped around his little finger in heels like that).

"You lie. Not wise to lie to the god of lies.", Loki says, and reaches out to play with Tony's tie; his chest burns where his fingers have touched him.

"I resent such false accusations.", he mumbles, trying not to watch the way the other's fingers play with the dark blue fabric, slow and teasing, because it will drive him mad, he knows; he also tries his utmost not to let his breath hitch when the damned alien pulls and presses his lips to it before sighing and biting on the very edge (oh, who is he kidding, he is trying not to touch himself now).

Tony's pants are growing seriously too tight. He needs to take action; with a definitely not trembling hand, he tries to pull his tie free from those slender hands, getting ready to word something along the lines of 'time to go home', but Loki is tipsy after all, and does not hesitate in switching the accessory for an appendix. He gasps at the feel of tongue against his index finger, a smooth, sensual lick followed by a gentle bite; he catches the alien's hazed green eyes, and belatedly realizes he is being seduced by an intoxicated pygmy giant lying on his desk wearing six-inch stilettos.

Well. Who is he to deny the spirit of Christmas?

\- - -

Loki rattles the snugly wrapped present, weighs it carefully and frowns.

"What is it?", he asks, shooting wary glances at him, "You didn't get me some useless gadget, did you?"

"Just open it, your royal highness.", Tony Stark scoffs, and pulls the Santa hat over the alien's eyes in an attempt to get away with stealing his eggnog, enjoying the frown and glare it earns him. He gulps it down, settling back against the soft pillows of the bed, enjoying the calming sounds of the tropical beach - it might be Christmas, but they are Tony Stark and Loki Odinson; they aren't going to do the whole snowy tree thing, oh no, screw that: bed on a beach it is.

(Of course, the eggnog turns out to be laced with something that makes his throat burn and cough. Damn, still one step behind, but no matter, he'll get that gorgeous little bastard eventually.)

"S-Stark.", the god of mischief says, looking from his gift to him with a slight blush, "You bastard. I'm going to castrate you and hang you by your entrails from Stark tower."

"Well, as long as you do it wearing that, you can do anything you want with me, darling.", he says with a crooked smile, pointing to the pair of custom-made green stilettos in the box, a much finer piece than the one before.

Not that there was anything wrong with the original, oh holy motor oil, no; he loves those shoes, loves all the beautiful memories of hot, sweaty, needy Lokis tied to them - if someone were to ask him what is his kink, he'd definitely say norse god of mischief in high heels -, but they were starting to wear from all the 'use'. And, well, he likes to have his way with this particular alien. 

(That's why he put a ring on it five years ago.)

\- - Fin - -


End file.
